Oh! the bonnie weaving broom, whaur aften we did meet,
Wi' its yellow flowers that fell like gowd 'mang our feet;
The bird would stop its sang, but only for a wee,
As we gaed by its nest, 'neath its ain birk-tree.
Oh! the sunny days o' youth, they couldna aye remain—
There was ower meikle joy and ower little pain;
Sae fareweel, happy days! an' fareweel, youthfu' glee!
The young may court your smiles, but ye 're gane frae me.
'TIS SAIR TO DREAM.
'Tis sair to dream o' them we like,
That waking we sall never see;
Yet oh! how kindly was the smile
My laddie in my sleep gave me!
I thought we sat beside the burn
That wimples down the flowery glen,
Where, in our early days o' love,
We met that ne'er sall meet again.
The simmer sun sank 'neath the wave,
And gladden'd wi' his parting ray
The woodland wild and valley green,
Fast fading into gloamin' gray.
He talk'd of days o' future joy,
And yet my heart was haflins sair;
For when his eye it beam'd on me,
A withering death-like glance was there!
I thought him dead, and then I thought
That life was young and love was free;
For o'er our heads the mavis sang,
And hameward hied the janty bee!
We pledged our love and plighted troth,
But cauld, cauld was the kiss he gave;
When, starting from my dream, I found
His troth was plighted to the grave!
I canna weep, for hope is fled,
And nought would do but silent mourn,
Were 't no for dreams that should na come,
To whisper back my love's return.
'Tis sair to dream o' them we like,
That waking we sall never see;
Yet, oh! how kindly was the smile
My laddie in my sleep gave me!